


For I have sinned

by DracoIgnis



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 14th Century, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Aunt/Nephew Incest, Bishop Jon Snow, Confessional, Confessional Sex, F/M, Forbidden Love, Incest, Kissing, Mutual Pining, Pining, Princess Daenerys Targaryen, R Plus L Equals J, Religion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Secret Relationship, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22742395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoIgnis/pseuds/DracoIgnis
Summary: Before her coronation, Princess Daenerys must confess all her sins to Bishop Jon Snow. But perhaps they're only setting themselves up for another cardinal sin.Written for the Jonerys Valentines week.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 70
Kudos: 412





	For I have sinned

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.”

Jon straightened up in his seat as he drew in a sharp breath. Before him, the flames in the fireplace flickered lively. In their light, the thick orphrey on his chasuble glimmered; the golden lace mixed with the rich green silk, the band leading all the way down to the start of his alp. Every piece of his clothing was new, the materials stiff and heavy on his frame, and he felt himself drown in the deep folds of the fabric, his fingertips barely visible in his lap.

Jon carefully folded his hands as he exhaled. Then, with a swift move, he reached up and pushed the wooden door aside, revealing the latticed opening. He did not have to glance through it to know who was kneeling on the other side.

Daenerys’ voice shivered as she continued: “It has been a year since my last confession.”

It took four men to move the confessional. As Jon watched them struggle with the old wooden structure, his heart ached. He protested, of course, insisting that its proper place was within the church, and no amount of gold would convince the Lord differently. Still, arguing religion with the guards was fruitless; the stand was placed inside the royal chambers, and now he found himself facing a room devoid of holy objects but overflowing with riches.

Dark blue curtains hung along every wall. Where the fabric didn’t reach, banners woven thick with images of war and victory covered the whitewashed stone. A table had been set with silver jugs of wine, decorated chalices, bowls overflowing with fruit and nuts, a vase of roses decorating its midst.

However, it was upon the shield above the fireplace that Jon’s gaze lingered. A three-headed dragon stared back at him. Its frame was finely painted with red across the stark black wood, and rubies had been added to its eyes, causing a frightening effect when the flames were reflected in their shiny surface. To Jon, it felt almost sacrilegious.

“Confess your sins,” Jon instructed, his voice warm yet impersonal, “so that the Lord may free your soul.”

“All of them?” Daenerys asked.

Jon scrounged his nose in confusion. “Any that you may have committed since your last confession,” he explained. He leaned back against the wooden corner, his eyes slipping from the shield to the decorative fretwork. Through the holes, he could see the outline of her; her skin pale as the ocean foam, the lips red akin a robin’s breast, her lashes like pieces of golden thread.

Jon felt his heart throb. Before she could look at him, he averted his eyes.

“What of those that I have not previously confessed, Father?” Daenerys pressed on. Her voice was sweet and desperate all at once. “Should I speak of those too?”

Jon wetted his lips as he mulled over her words. “Have you received the Eucharist?” he asked.

Daenerys nodded gently. “I have, Father.”

“Then you have committed a mortal sin.” Jon lifted his cross from his chest to his lips as he pressed a kiss to its bejeweled shape. “Without absolution, there shall be no Heaven for you.”

Daenerys’ light laughter surprised him. As he stirred, she pressed her forehead to her folded hands and whispered: “Forgive me, Father, but I believe Heaven to be long outside my reach.”

The flames were growing stronger. In their heat, the smells of the room seemed to drag together and waft across Jon like a scent of its own. His nostrils flared as he sensed the ashes, and the roses, and the fruity wine. But it was the taste of strawberries that distracted him. Their fragrance slipped through the lattice, and he hungrily smacked his lips, wondering if she bathed her skin in the juices from the berries.

“You fear for your coronation,” Jon stated, “but you need not to - I have come to listen to your sins.”

“Can all sins be forgiven?” Daenerys queried.

Jon slowly licked his lips. His curiosity was piqued, but he retained his ordained manners as he cited: “ _All sins shall be forgiven unto the sons of men._ ” He paused, waiting to see if Daenerys would say else but, when she did not, he added: “ _But he that shall blaspheme against the Holy Ghost hath never forgiveness._ Such it is written in the Bible. I cannot imagine you have engaged in such damnation.”

“Your answers lead me to more questions, Father,” Daenerys said, and there was a faint smile to her voice. When her head rose once more, Jon couldn’t stop himself from glancing back at her. His gaze rested on her full lips as she spoke: “What constitutes blasphemy?”

“Men have died in wars over questions such as these,” Jon spoke gravely. As he watched Daenerys’ lips pout, he felt a shiver go down his spine. _In a woman’s simple beauty,_ he thought, _I find the proof of God, and the proof of the Devil all at once._ He forced himself to look away. His hand closed around his cross. “The refusal to repent. The refusal to accept the Lord’s mercy. Those are blasphemous actions,” Jon stated, “but you kneel before me because you wish to clear your conscience.”

“So I am not without hope?”

“God is merciful,” Jon promised. “Speak your sins, and you shall be crowned Queen before the sun sets.”

“I have consented to impure thoughts.”

A flame crackled in the same. Jon watched as a glimpse of red ash burned in the air only to disappear. He breathed deeply. “When did these thoughts start?” he asked, yet Daenerys did not offer him a reply. As he settled tightly against the back of the confessional, he cleared his throat and repeated: “I must know to fully understand your sin.”

For a moment longer, silence reigned. Then, Daenerys exhaled. Her warm breath tickled across Jon’s cheek as he leaned closer to the lattice. “I was nine,” she spoke, and Jon felt his upper-lip shiver.

“Nine?” he repeated. His voice was hushed. “You have never confessed to this before?”

“Never,” she spoke without hesitation.

Jon nodded solemnly. His hand rose to his bearded chin, and he stroked the hair, the ends rough from a recent cut. “Of all his creatures, the children of men are closest to our Lord, for their minds are pure, and their hearts are open to his teachings.” His fingers stroked down his neck and grazed the top of his Adam’s apple. He felt it move as he spoke: “Though no less grave, it is easy to forget the sins of our past. You should not fret.”

“But that is the thing, Father,” Daenerys said. He could hear her shuffle. Her knees dragged further into the booth. He could sense her frame covering more of the opening, the candlelight behind her shadowed by her head. “I never forgot.”

Jon’s Adam’s apple jumped as he swallowed. He felt his nape tickle with sweat. “You have known and not confessed for all these years?” he asked and, when she nodded, he sensed his stomach churn. “You have behaved poorly in the eyes of the Lord.”

“But all sins can be forgiven,” Daenerys reminded him, and Jon felt trapped in the web of his own words.

 _She plays me like the Devil,_ he thought, before shaking his head at his own ponders. _No, she is to be Queen. Royalty is as close to God as man can get. I should not liken her to the damnation sure to befall a common man like myself._ Jon kissed his cross once more before he spoke: “Please confess your sins.”

“I was nine,” Daenerys said, her voice so quiet that he had to lean even closer to ensure that he would not miss out on a word. “I found myself watching a boy of my age. He was my friend, but I allowed my mind to cloud with indecent thoughts. He spoke and acted with innocence, Father, but I twisted his every action to my own wicked desires.”

“Explain your conduct,” Jon spoke before he could stop himself. He knew it was not necessary, but he also understood his right to know. _How can I forgive a woman whose sins I do not fully understand?_ he wondered. _I must have her full confession, or there shall be no act of contrition._

Daenerys’ lashes fluttered. Though sure to be a figment of his imagination, Jon sensed them brush across his cheek. “Once I had fallen down the steps to the courtyard. My knees were barely scraped, but I wailed like a newborn babe. He offered me his hand, and he led me through the castle as he spoke words of kindness to calm my voice.”

Jon nodded. “A noble gesture,” he remarked, and Daenerys’ voice was thick with regret as she said:

“Indeed, Father, but I could not let him act in kindness alone. As we walked, I imagined we were not friends at all, but lovers. I imagined that his hand in mine was not leading me to my father the King, but up the aisle to a priest. I imagined myself married to him.”

As she spoke, a small smile spread on Jon’s lips. He felt his heart flutter at her childish memory. “If you were a woman of age, I would deem it improper,” he spoke, “but fantasies of marriage are hardly sinful, lest all women of this nation should find themselves begging forgiveness.”

“Oh Father, this is just the beginning,” Daenerys said, her voice shivering with anguish. “As we grew, so did my imagination. I was eleven when I first bled, and Mother told me that I was now fit for carrying children. Imagine the shame I felt that night when I laid in bed and did not think of a faceless future husband, but that same boy.”

Jon shuffled in his seat. Sweat was now trickling from his neck down his thick alb. The cream undergown was sticking close to his skin. _If only I could put out that fire,_ he thought as he eyed the flickering flames. “This boy you speak of,” Jon said, choosing his words with care, “was he fit for your standing?”

“For my standing, perhaps, yet not for me,” Daenerys replied with mystery to her voice. Before Jon could question her, she continued: “When I was fourteen, I engaged in masturbation.”

Jon’s cheeks flushed. “Self-indulgence turns the mind away from the grace of God,” he stuttered, his words rushed from the surprise of her confession. “Surely, you have already confessed this before?”

“No, Father,” Daenerys simply spoke, “I have not.”

“Why have you waited until this moment?”

“Do you not know why you were called from Rome?” Daenerys asked. “It is customary for a member of the royal family to confess all and any sins before being crowned. This surely does not surprise you?”

“Do not take that tone with me,” Jon snapped, his voice more harsh than he wished for it to be. As Daenerys quieted, he glanced at the cross on his chest. _Forgive me, Father,_ he thought and did the sign of the cross, _for I have sinned. I have lost my temper. I shall endeavour to do better._ He took a deep breath. Only once his heart had calmed did he speak again: “All must confess, whether layman or royal. But for you to have kept these sins secret until now? I simply can’t fathom the purpose.”

“They brought you here,” Daenerys continued, “to keep it in the family, dear nephew.”

Jon’s fingers shivered in his lap. He had to remind himself to remain poised. “In this confessional, our relation is nonexistent,” he reminded her. “I am your opportunity to confess, no more. I am nameless, and I am faceless.”

“Yet I see your face,” Daenerys said. Her hand rose, her fingertips dipping in between the lattice as she took hold of the wood. “Look at me.”

Jon’s lips stretched to a fine line on his face as he remained sturdy, his eyes looking only ahead. The flames licked up against the stone of the fireplace. He imagined they would eat up the whole place if let loose.

“I command that you look at me.”

“I told you,” Jon whispered through gritted teeth. His heart was pounding in his chest. His fingers curled to fists. “In this booth, you have no power over me.”

“Outside this booth, I can rip away your promised position as Archbishop,” Daenerys said, her voice shivering with anger. “Now, _Father_ \- look at me.”

Jon closed his eyes. Then, with a slow exhale, he turned to face the opening, closed his hands around his cross, and finally raised his lids to watch Daenerys.

There she sat; his confessor, his aunt, his coming Queen. Her violet eyes were brimming with so many feelings that he could not distinguish them all. She was angry, that much was obvious from her knitted brows, and she was embarrassed, it showed in her rosy cheeks, and she was _scared_.

This last emotion struck him with surprise. He felt his mouth dry as he held his breath.

“All my life, Mother warned me,” Daenerys said, “not to speak in err. If someone is not family, you do not know what they will do with the information provided by you. One moment, you wear a crown. Next, you plead for your life from those you ruled.”

“A priest must not share that which is confessed to him,” Jon said, but he understood in his heart what Daenerys was trying to say. In his mind, the image of her father flickered before his eyes. The man could have ruled for many more years had a sword not put an end to his reign. _Aerys trusted the Lannisters who protected him,_ Jon thought. _Daenerys is wise not to make the same mistake._

“I shall confess all to you that I have not,” Daenerys continued, her voice steady. She blinked, a tear escaping her eyes, and she wiped it off in the thick sleeve of her green dress. “Please, Father, will you listen?”

Jon nodded, and he held her gaze with his as he spoke: “I will.”

“When I was fourteen,” Daenerys spoke once more, “I engaged in masturbation.” She paused, waiting to see if Jon would protest, but he did not. Though his cheeks burned with the same heat as the flames in the fireplace, he remained still, watching her with care. It seemed to make her shy - at least she averted her eyes, pulled her hands back, and folded them behind the lattice. “I knew it to be wrong, Father, therein lies my second sin. I felt ashamed, yet I could not stop myself from seeking gratification. Whenever I laid eyes on the boy, my heart quivered, and my body filled with a need to be close to him.”

“What was the boy’s position at the castle?” Jon queried. “Was he a servant?”

Daenerys shook her head. “He trained to be a soldier,” she said. “I neglected my duties as a princess to go see him fight. I would hide in the fields for hours, my eyes never once leaving his side.”

Jon placed a hand over his heart. He wanted to calm himself, but he couldn’t - not when listening to Daenerys’ indecent past. _I thought her pure of heart,_ he realised. _Wherever I went, I never prayed for her soul, for I thought it to be safe in the Lord’s hands._ “Please continue,” he spoke, his voice slightly shivering.

Daenerys smiled a sad smile. “I confess to dressing immodestly,” she spoke. “When I was sixteen, I would not wear my smallclothes.” Her cheeks blushed bright pink at this, and her eyes closed as she built up the courage to continue.

Jon’s hands folded in his lap. He resisted the urge to shuffle in the seat, but his whole body was clammy with sweat, and his frame was quivering like a leaf in the wind. He felt as if every sinful admission from her plump lips dragged him further away from God, yet he could not stop her. _It is my duty to listen,_ he scolded himself, _I shall not linger on her sins, but only on what penance she should receive._

“I went horse-riding with him, my skirts purposely pulled up around my knees, and when we were alone, I ensured to seat myself just right to allow him sight of my-”

“I understand,” Jon stopped her, his voice breathless. He shook his head to rid himself of his improper thoughts, but it was too late; his mind was picking her apart - down went her headscarf, from her shoulders slipped her silky dress, and when he peeked beneath her cream undergown, he found her sex bared. “I shall name your penance,” he spoke, but Daenerys chuckled hopelessly.

She pressed her forehead to her folded hands. “Forgive me, Father,” she spoke, “but I am yet to confess all my sins.”

Jon pushed his fingertips into the collar of his gown, hoping to allow some air down his burning body, but no relief was to be found in the warm room. The flames flickered wildly. Despite being across the room, he sensed them running up his legs. “Continue, dear,” he spoke, at once uncertain whether it was appropriate for him to refer to her as such, but the word had left his lips already.

“When I was eighteen, I spotted him with another.” Daenerys paused, her lips slipping up across her knuckles as she raised her head to look at him once more. “I saw them kiss, and I watched them engage in,” she seemed to search for the right word, “ _inappropriate_ relations. I did not make myself known, I just stood and watched from my window.”

“What did you do then?” Jon asked. His hands brushed down over his cross before finding rest in his lap, and he perked when he felt himself push back up against the palms of his hands. _It cannot be,_ he realised with embarrassment. Yet it was so - somewhere deep beneath the thick layers of his fabric, his cock throbbed with need.

“I harboured hate in my heart for that woman,” Daenerys said. Her words were full of spite. Even this many years later, Jon could tell that the memory was fresh on her mind, and so was her hatred. “Of that I am sinful. I was envious. I wanted him for myself. When I laid in bed, I imagined it was me who caused him pleasure. Me who kissed his skin. Me who allowed him access to my bed.”

“But it could not be,” Jon whispered, and Daenerys nodded.

“It could not be. So I told Mother that the woman was a thief, and she sent her away.”

Jon stirred and glanced at her with shock on his face. “You lied to your parents?” he said.

Daenerys stared right back into his eyes as she spoke: “And I would do so again, Father, if it meant keeping him for myself.”

Jon’s groin was aching now. It mattered not how he tried to distract himself - with prayers in his mind, with the glimmering golden cross at his neck, with the feeling of the soft silks across his body. His throbbing cock demanded attention, and so did the image of the flames. They now licked up his legs, up his torso, reaching for his face.

Jon wiped his sweaty cheeks off in the sleeve of his alp, the manniple dangling around his chest. “You show no remorse,” he spoke with fear. “Remember how we defined blasphemy?”

“I remember how you left,” Daenerys said.

Jon closed his eyes and dapped his face dry. It didn’t matter how many times he stroked the fabric across his skin. It got clammy again within seconds. “The Lord called out to me,” he said.

“Was it the Lord, or did my father send you away?”

Jon took in a shivering breath. “You are to confess,” he reminded her, “not I. It is your coronation that the people await.”

“It is your position as Archbishop that the people will applaud,” Daenerys retorted. She shuffled behind the lattice, her face pressing closer to the grid as she tried to catch his eyes. “On my nineteenth birthday, you left. I did not see you for seven years. For seven years you’ve travelled, and learned, and preached, and been preached to. Seven years of longing.”

“Your father did not send me away,” Jon spoke weakly. With his eyes closed, he could sense the flames surrounding him. He felt like he would burn for an eternity.

“Then why forsake our friendship?” Daenerys asked. Her voice was slightly shrill and filled with pain. “Why leave me behind to the games of these royals?”

“Because I love you.” The moment he’d spoken the words, Jon knew he could never go back. There would be no salvation for him. His soul was lost to the Devil. So he opened his eyes, for the first time with real determination, and he glanced at Daenerys with a hopeless smile. Her face was pale with shock. “I loved you then, Daenerys,” he said slowly, for the first time speaking her name, “and I knew it could not be. A nephew with his aunt?” He let go of a pitiful laugh. It seemed to echo in the room. “I sought the Lord’s mercy. For seven years, I lived by his word, and I followed his command. Whatever he needed, I gave. Wherever he led me, I went. I lost my sense of self. I felt elevated from Earth. I saw my soul reach for Heaven.”

Daenerys’ fingers closed around the lattice. “What happened?” she asked in a whisper.

Jon’s smile deepened. He felt his eyes well up with tears. “I was asked back to listen to your confession,” he replied, “and how could I deny such a request? The future Queen of England. It was not for me to reject such a proposal.” He reached over, his own hands closing at the fretwork as he too leaned in. Their faces were close. Between the holes, they could feel each other’s breath. “But I never knew you longed for me.”

“I never realised that I was in your heart,” Daenerys said. She was staring at him, her eyes still vexed. “Jon, for how long-”

“Since I was nine,” he spoke, “and I held the hand of a little crying girl as I led her through the castle.”

At his words, Daenerys drew in a sharp breath. Her lashes bashes to the grid. Her plump lips pushed to the wood. When she whispered: “Did you ever find salvation?” he could taste the strawberries on her breath.

“I never confessed,” Jon admitted. Then, he leaned in, pushing his own lips to the lattice as he met her mouth in a kiss.

The wood kept them apart, yet he could feel the shape of her silky lips as they moved across the grid. Her breath mixed with his. In her gasp, he found desire, and he couldn’t help but brush his fingertips up across hers, her pale tips still stretching through the opening. He could taste her, he could smell her; the scent of her freshly washed gown, the wine on her mouth. As he breathed, he felt the wood grow damp with perspiration, and when he allowed his tongue to dart out and meet her smaller pinkish one, he groaned in need.

 _There is no penance for me,_ he realised as he licked his aunt’s lips. The heat was surrounding him, embracing him. The imaginary flames of Hell now dominated his entire frame as it shivered in sweaty lust. _I have led her astray. I have broken the trust of the Lord. Ahead of me, there is just eternal damnation._

Still, when Jon’s eyes opened once more and he stared into her glittering violet, the colour of them rich like the ocean at sunset, he found himself unable to hold back. He wanted more than what he could claim through the wood. So he pulled back, his breath stuck in his throat, his lips wet from Daenerys’ tongue, and he paused, hesitation filling his limbs for a second until she whispered:

“Jon?” - then he could wait no more.

Jon stepped out of the confessional, the old wood groaning as he rose from the seat, and he walked around the thin wall and glanced down.

Daenerys was still kneeling, like a perfectly pious woman. Her frame shivered beneath the thick green gown. Her silver hair was tucked away neatly below a headscarf adorned with golden threads. As he watched her, her hands slipped from the grid to her front, and she folded them in her lap before glancing up at him, her lips wet and parted.

For a moment he stood still, uncertain of what to do, but before he could make a move, Daenerys reached out for his robes. Her small fingers closed around his stole, and she moved, her knees dragging across the wooden floor as she bowed in to kiss it. As her lips pressed to the embroidered cross, Jon heard himself gasp.

“You should not do that,” he spoke, his voice quivering, “until I have absolved you of all sins.”

Daenerys glanced up at him from between her golden lashes, yet she continued; her lips sought up the fabric, further across his red chasuble, her mouth following the green line of his orphrey. “Forgive me,” she spoke to the fabric, her frame rising as her lips did until she stood before him, her mouth hovering the glittering cross at his neck. “But I intend to commit more sins before my confession has ended.”

“Are you asking me for permission?” Jon spoke in a whisper, looking down at her with bated breath.

“No,” Daenerys replied. Her hands slipped across his shoulders, and he felt himself drawn close to her, her clothed body pressing tight to his. Even through the thick layers of his gown, he could feel her; the steady rhythm of her heart, the shape of her hip, the sharpness of her knees as they weakly pushed into him. “No,” she spoke again, her hands brushing into his black curls, pushing his mitre aside, “I am asking for your participation.”

Jon kissed her. With nothing between them, he could fully feel her wet lips against his, and he groaned into her mouth, his tongue seeking hers. Seven years they had been apart. For ten more, he had pined for her. Now, he stood in her chamber, about to be ordained the Archbishop and she the Queen, and yet it was at that moment that they finally allowed themselves to submit to their desires.

Jon’s heart beat raw in his chest. As his hands dragged her closer, the scarf fell from her head, allowing her silver locks to freely drop around her small frame. His fingertips stroked through their softness, just like her hands pushed his mitre to the floor as she dragged at his curls. He needed her, and he sensed she needed him too, her whole body shivering in his arms.

His hands were quivering with longing. Jon let them roam down her small back before pulling at her gown, eagerly dragging the fabric up across her body. Just like his own robes, she was clad in layers, and the breeze he allowed to her clammy skin was met with a groan of joy.

“I want you in my bed,” Daenerys spoke to his lips, and Jon could only kiss her in reply.

They stumbled toward the canopy bed, their lips unwilling to part. When she fell onto the soft duvet, Jon followed atop of her, his broad frame pressing her down. She wriggled beneath him, her legs trying to kick her heavy gown upwards, but to no avail.

There was something desperate yet tender to their movements. The way Jon dragged at his alb with need, eager to free himself, and the hurried way Daenerys rolled up her undergown, exposing her legs to his eyes. They were hungry for each other, certain in their lust but not in their movements, every slither of fabric removed with a fumble.

When Jon leaned in over her, his hand dragging up the inside of her thighs until he could feel her sex, he paused for the first time since leaving the confessional, his lips hovering hers.

Daenerys glanced up at him, her lips parted in confusion. “Is something the matter?” she asked and shyly bit her lip. She glanced down, her cheeks growing red when she saw how his hand was hidden in her clothes. “Am I not what you imagined?”

Jon pushed a finger to her sex, the wetness of it obvious, and he smiled gently down at her as she moaned and shivered to his hand. “You are everything the Lord hoped to create when he made Eve,” Jon whispered, and he saw her eyes flutter shut with tears in them.

“We waited too long,” she spoke, yet moaned when his fingers pushed inside of her, feeling her velvet inners.

Jon shook his head. He could feel his heartbeat quicken, the sweat on his nape, the need burning in his groin. Still he took his time, feeling Daenerys’ wet sex, sensing how her lips opened for him, how her body readied itself for him. “It could never be too long,” he spoke as he leaned in over her and kissed her. His hand slipped from her sex to his cock, the member difficult to drag free of his many layers, but he managed to push up his alb, the fabric folding into that of his chasuble as he led himself between her legs. “I’ve loved you,” Jon muttered to her lips, and she sobbed into the kiss, her face growing damp with tears, “and I will love you always.”

As Jon pushed into Daenerys’ body, he felt her open for him, and he thought: _If the Lord did not intend for me to love this woman, why did he make her so desirable?_ She was on the bed, spread out before him, her gowns wrestled up to her waist, and she looked as perfect as the full moon. Glowing, bright, her face surrounded by her pale silver locks, her lips parted in a moan, her eyes shut with pleasure.

It was then, as he sunk into her sex, his body pressing down atop of hers, his lips seeking hers once more in a wet, needy kiss, that he felt sure he’d found the salvation he’d been searching for. It dawned on him that the Bible’s promises of eternity in Heaven was not a promise of a life in the clouds, his soul living on with a mind free of sin.

 _No,_ he thought, his eyes opening slightly as he glanced into hers, drowning in her beautiful glance, _eternity is in the heart of those we touch, and the more we touch, the longer we live._ And he knew in that moment, as he rocked into her, moaning and groaning, their bodies becoming one, that he’d found an eternal home in her heart - and she had found one in his.

Jon moved with need. As sweat dripped down his forehead, he rocked into her at a quicker pace, his cock throbbing as her sex closed tightly around him. Daenerys’ fingers sought his hair, his back, grabbed a hold of his garbs as she arched her back, meeting his body with her own.

“Oh God, Jon,” she whispered, “I need you. I need you so, so much.”

Jon gasped as her legs rose to wrap at his waist, dragging him even deeper into her body, and he closed his eyes as a shiver of delight ran across his skin. He framed her face with one of his hands, his fingertips rough across her soft cheek, and he held on to her as he claimed her sex.

“Please never leave me again,” Daenerys begged beneath him. “Please join my council. Please promise me that you will.”

Jon felt his heart skip a beat at her words. “You ask much of me,” he said, and he glanced down at her as her lips pressed small kisses to his fingers. “How could I see you every day and not lust for you? How could I stay true to my path?”

“I’d need to confess,” Daenerys replied. Her fingers dragged from his back to his hair, then down his face as she held onto his cheeks. She smiled at him, her eyes glowing with lust. “Every time I have an indecent thought, you would come to my chamber to listen to my sins, and you would forgive them over and over.”

Jon almost laughed at her boldness. “What of my own salvation?” he asked.

Daenerys pressed her thumbs to his lips, making him lick them. “I shall be Queen,” she said, and in her voice was an authority he could not question. “If I demand you to be forgiven, so you shall be.”

“The Lord cannot be bargained with,” Jon whispered. His body was tensing up. He was finding it harder and harder to focus on Daenerys’ words, even more so replying to them. As his cock rubbed to her tight inners, he moaned and closed his eyes, but only for a second - Daenerys’ fingertips nudged for him to open them, so he did, looking down at her.

“If the Lord disapproves of love,” she said, and she pulled his face down to hers, “then I shall believe no more.” With that, she kissed him, pushing her tongue into his mouth as she greedily sought his taste, and Jon found that he could hold back no more.

His groans were lost to her lips as he came, spilling his seed deep inside her. As he rocked into her one last time, he felt her shiver too - her hands dropped from his face to grasp at the duvet below her, her body writhing as pleasure seemed to ride across her spine, leaving her back arched, her lips slipping from his as she whined in joy.

It was only then, as her frame slumped back into the duvet and her eyes fluttered open, that Jon dared to sink back atop of her, his heavy body keeping her locked in place. They were sweaty, and out of breath, and completely entangled in each other. Though growing limp, Jon’s cock was still inside of her, and neither of them made a move to have it differently.

They just laid in each others arms, and they kissed, as were they not estranged family, but married under the eyes of God.

* * *

“Oh, my God, because you are so good, I am very sorry that I have sinned against you. By the help of your grace, I will not sin again. Amen.”

Jon stood before Daenerys as she knelt on the floor, her hands folded, her eyes averted. He held up his hand as he spoke: “ _Dominus noster Jesus Christus te absolvat; et ego auctoritate ipsius te absolvo ab omni vinculo excommunicationis et interdicti in quantum possum et tu indiges._ ” He then did the cross, and Daenerys did too, as he continued: “ _Deinde, ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen_.”

“Amen,” Daenerys whispered. She then reached out, gently grabbing at Jon’s stole, and, under his careful watch, she pressed a kiss to the embroidered cross.

“Rise,” Jon spoke, and Daenerys stood, her hands perfectly folded before her, her eyes not once seeking his. She was once more dressed the part; her gown sat perfectly on her frame, her headdress had been adjusted to cover every silver strand of hair, and her cheeks no longer bore the red colour they had when they left her bedside.

Jon too had adjusted his looks; his gowns sat in place, the mitre on his head shining, and when he turned his back on her and drew in a deep breath, he could almost convince himself that nothing improper had taken place. He was just a bishop doing his duty, and she was just a Princess preparing for her coronation.

 _There is nothing more to us,_ Jon thought as he stepped toward the doors, _and nothing less._

Jon grabbed at the handles. He swung the doors open. Outside in the hallway, he was met with a group of people. There stood the priests, their garbs black and heavy, and the royal court, their gowns woven with rich gold and silver thread, and the guards, their armour shining in the flicker of the flames from the torches on the walls.

Jon cleared his throat. He folded his hands at his cross. Then, he spoke: “The Princess has confessed to all her sins, and I have absolved her of them. She can face her people with a light heart and a clean soul. The Lord has taken mercy on her. May she be Queen before sunset.”

“God bless,” the priests spoke, and the royals looked at one another with satisfaction on their faces.

Jon turned and stepped aside, allowing the group of people to flurry into Daenerys’ chamber. As they surrounded her, they all got to work; her handmaids seemed to appear from the shadows themselves, their hands ready to help her off with her gown and into one befitting for a coronation, the priests muttered prayers to her hands as they kissed her rings, and the royals congratulated her for what was ahead and each made sure to mention their name, hopeful for a place on her council.

Jon stood watching the spectacle, a small smile on his lips as his grey eyes met violet, for he knew in his heart that one spot on her royal council had already been claimed. He could barely wait to find out what confessions he would have to hear in the future.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed that! The story is loosely set in the 14th century but has drawn inspiration from the middle ages in general - this is especially true when it comes to the structure of the confessional. Hope no one minds!
> 
> As always, a big thank you to DragonandDirewolf for the amazing art. Check out her Tumblr for more goodies.


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